


absolute trainwreck

by tinypersonhotel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College AU, Multi, agender akaashi, the ultimate ot4...............is born
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 00:58:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5562601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypersonhotel/pseuds/tinypersonhotel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa is surprised when Iwa-chan is the one to suggest they go on a double date. He’s even more surprised when the other couple is Bokuto and Akaashi from the university volleyball team.</p>
<p>Alternatively: How Akaashi Keiji Landed Their Boyfriend Squad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	absolute trainwreck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NatRoze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatRoze/gifts).



> HAP BIRTH NAT, excellent friend, comedic genius, ultimate overlord of rarepairs. this does not comply with [off the rails](http://natroze.tumblr.com/tagged/off%20the%20rails/chrono) canon, which if not for the ot4 you should at LEAST read for choice phrases like “sexy freight train” and oikawa’s fashion sense
> 
> they/them for akaashi btw

“I am deeply in love,” Akaashi says, “with Bokuto-san.”

It’s been ages since these words felt like a confession. Lately, they’re an affirmation: Akaashi loves Bokuto a _lot_ , and it is critical to keep this in mind first and foremost, because living with Bokuto is an absolute train wreck.

Like—he keeps _inventing_ things.

Akaashi is certain this is how one or both of them will die.

It’s going to the same school as Kuroo that’s really the problem. Bokuto on his own Akaashi is well-equipped to handle; they had two years of high school to figure that out, and practically two years dating since then. Kuroo, however, is the ultimate enabler—light-years more intelligent than Bokuto, but just as impractical and with a devious streak that seems to come out when they’re together. At first Akaashi told themself they weren’t responsible for Kuroo—they weren’t dating _Kuroo_ , after all—but it turns out he and Bokuto are kind of a package deal. Kuroo as an unofficial third roommate means loud nights, toxic culinary experiments in their narrow kitchen, and, most recently, haphazard construction projects of increasing structural unsoundness.

Anyway, yeah—Akaashi loves Bokuto, they love Bokuto with all their heart, Bokuto is the light of their life. Et-fucking-cetera.

All of their furniture is upside-down.

“I love Bokuto-san more than anything in the universe,” Akaashi says as they flip the coffee table upright.

After a minute righting chairs and tables, they decide couch-flipping isn’t worth the muscle strain, and that Bokuto can take responsibility for that in the morning. If Bokuto’s not home yet—and he isn’t, given how he hasn’t burst from the other room and practically crushed Akaashi to death with a killer hug—then their lecture can wait for breakfast.

***

It’s breakfast.

Akaashi stands at the stove pushing eggs around in the pan; they refuse to acknowledge Bokuto when he strolls into the kitchen and starts greeting his inventions, the way he does every morning.

“Good morning Trashcan Man,” Bokuto says.

Trashcan Man: a trashcan painted with a smiling face of the uncanny valley variety. Akaashi had pointed out a face like that was going to be difficult to market—and furthermore, to what end? This had instantly depressed Bokuto; obviously _trash_ was the number one item in kitchens around the world that needed improving. Wasn’t that how inventing stuff _worked_?

Akaashi had told him no, that was absolutely not how it worked. Thankfully they knew a thing or two about kissing things better, which was handy, because Trashcan Man was by no means the only recent invention that had failed what Kuroo and Bokuto had come to call the “Akaashi Keiji test”.

 “Good morning, Chair Backpack,” Bokuto says next.

Ah, yes. Chair Backpack. Akaashi’s personal _least_ favorite. Four months ago, Bokuto had herded them into the kitchen, one hand pressed over their eyes, the other on their back, so excited he nearly knocked both of them to the floor.

“I present to you…Chair Backpack!” Bokuto had said.

Chair Backpack was backpack straps attached to one of their kitchen chairs. Chair Backpack looked lethal.

Akaashi—a good significant other, one who always reserved their judgment—had asked slowly, “Bokuto-san, what is a chair backpack?”

“ _Chair Backpack_ ,” Bokuto had said, “is the form of transportation of the future. Or, well, _a_ form of transportation. Of _a_ future.”

 “I sure hope you cut those off of your own bag,” Akaashi had said—then they remembered, _Patience_. “How does it work?”

“Let me show you! Take a seat, Akaashi!”

Oh, hell no.

“Bokuto-san, you don’t have _that_ many kilos on me. You’ll get hurt.”

“Please, Akaashi,” Bokuto had begged. “I bench more than your weight. Let me prove it to you!”

“I’m not a barbell.”

“Please? Kuroo carries Kenma around all the time.”

“Kenma can’t be 60 kilos. And Kuroo’s almost as big as you are.”

Bokuto had pouted, but Akaashi let him keep Chair Backpack under the condition that no one actually tried to use it.

Now Bokuto nearly trips over Chair Backpack making his way to the stove. “Good morning, Long Spatula,” he says. Akaashi is currently using Long Spatula. It is a testament to how much they love Bokuto that Long Spatula hasn’t been snapped in two. Or more—using a spatula with eight feet’s worth of chopsticks duct-taped to the handle is no easy feat. Bokuto and Kuroo had designed it so that they could flip pancakes without getting up from the kitchen table.

“It’s _efficient,_ ” Bokuto had insisted.

“It’s non-functional,” Akaashi had countered, and sent a furious text to Kuroo to stop teaching Bokuto big words.

Finally, Bokuto creeps up behind Akaashi and grabs their sides. Akaashi twitches; they’re the kind of ticklish where it feels weird, but doesn’t make them laugh. Bokuto has been trying to rectify this for years.

“Good morning, Akaashi,” he says.

“Is it, Bokuto-san?”

“Of course it is.” Bokuto smiles into the back of their neck. “Kuroo and I are geniuses, and we’re gonna be super rich, and you’re gonna be my trophy spouse.”

Akaashi has heard this one before.

“Bokuto-san, why is all of our furniture upside down?”

“Oh,” Bokuto says. “That. Well, Kuroo said we should try looking at things from a different angle, and our necks were starting to hurt, so we figured—”

“You figure you’d dismantle our living space?”

“I was going to put it back,” Bokuto protests.

“I told you to keep an eye on them, Trashcan Man,” Akaashi says, sighing. Trashcan Man does not respond, because he is a trashcan. Trashcan Man only has one expression, and it is that of ecstatic, unsettling joy. Akaashi worries that their attempt to communicate with it is a sign of a deteriorating ability to cope.

“I’m sorry Akaashi,” Bokuto mopes, dropping his head on their shoulder. “I’ll fix it before practice.”

“Good,” Akaashi says, passing off a plate of eggs to their boyfriend. “And make sure you shower after. We’re going on a double date tonight.”

Bokuto smiles. “We are?”

“Yes,” Akaashi says. “So, please—don’t die today. It would be rude if we stood them up.”

***

Even most of the way through his second year, Oikawa is still sure of it: college is the best fucking thing ever.

Well, it is if you’re a super-hot dude with a super-hot boyfriend, good grades, a great volleyball team, and a pretty fantastic apartment in an exciting neighborhood in Tokyo.

“Easy for you to say our apartment’s _fantastic_ ,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “I’m the one who does all the cleaning.”

“And I do all the decorating! Have you ever seen such a tastefully decorated room, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi has to admit their apartment has more personality than anyone would expect for two twenty-year-old athletes with busy schedules. The string of lights shaped like rocket ships are a nice touch. But he isn’t sure phony UFO photography and a couch piled high with alien and Godzilla dolls count as tasteful.

“Everyone who steps foot in here is convinced we’re conspiracy theorists, or Flat Earthers, or something.”

“Aliens aren’t a conspiracy, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says seriously. Then, in the worst English imaginable: “The truth is out there, Scully-san.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Iwaizumi says. “Hey, by the way. This Friday.”

“Yes?” Oikawa flutters his eyelashes.

“We’re going on a double date.”

Oikawa laughs. “Aw, Iwa-chan, are you feeling self-conscious? Do we really need to rub it in some other couple’s face how perfect we are?”

Iwaizumi considers this. He can’t imagine either half of the other couple being intimidated by—well, pretty much anything.

“It’s Bokuto and Akaashi.”

“Oh,” Oikawa says. “Don’t we spend enough time with them at practice?”

“Sure,” Iwaizumi says. “But they’re nice. We like them. We said we wanted to get to know them better last year, didn’t we?”

“I guess,” Oikawa says. “It makes sense, after all. They’re our parallels. Akaashi is beautiful and brilliant like me, and Bokuto is a sweaty meathead like Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi punches him. “You’re the one who asked this sweaty meathead to move in with you.”

“Oh, Iwa-chan, don’t pretend the reasons you agreed weren’t completely indecent.”

“Gross.”

“You love me.”

“I do,” Iwaizumi says. Oikawa throws a Godzilla toy in his face.

“So, what’s the dress code?” Oikawa asks.

Iwaizumi wrinkles his nose. “Casual. Akaashi said Bokuto only goes places if they have chicken fingers and fries.”

“They’re a weird couple,” Oikawa says, making room for himself among the mountain of alien toys on the couch. “They’re lucky they’re hot.”

“True,” Iwaizumi agrees, kicking an extraterrestrial to the floor.

***

“So, how did you two meet?” Oikawa asks, leaning over the table. After half an hour of wandering around, they’ve finally decided on a family restaurant on the second floor of a shopping complex. Before the meal they’d taken a walk through the park, and between Bokuto’s loud laughter and Oikawa’s flashy fashion sense, they’d attracted way more attention than either Akaashi or Iwaizumi was comfortable with. This had pissed Oikawa off, and so he’d taken Bokuto’s hand for a while, sticking his tongue out at that meanie Iwa-chan and warning Akaashi this was what happened when you were inconsiderate to your boyfriend.

“We went to high school together. Bokuto-san didn’t confess to me until graduation. He said he was trying to be romantic, but really he was just scared I’d say no.” Akaashi sighs. “I almost killed him on the spot.”

“Well, you can only half-blame Bokuto,” Oikawa points out. “You’re very intimidating, Akaashi-kun.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t blame him, Akaashi,” Iwaizumi agrees. “I’d be terrified to ask you out, too.”

“Hey, Akaashi, are you okay?” asks Bokuto. “Do you have a fever? You’re bright red!”

“Just finish the story,” Akaashi groans, obscuring their face with their hands.

“Oh? Okay,” Bokuto says. “When I confessed, Akaashi was so mad, they made me promise we wouldn’t break up for two years.”

“That’s how long we liked each other in high school,” Akaashi clarifies. “Thankfully Bokuto got recruited by some pretty good schools. I followed him here after graduation, and that’s about it. What about you two?”

“Childhood friends,” Iwaizumi says quickly.

Oikawa pouts. “Iwa-chan got super-hot during puberty, which was super-shocking, and a total nightmare for me. I, on the other hand, have always been a nightmare,” Oikawa boasts. “I was born with the looks of a model.”

“Yeah!” Bokuto agrees, stretching his arms behind his head. “Everyone here is like, super-hot.” Oikawa splutters.

“ _Bokuto_ -san,” Akaashi says. “You’re embarrassing Oikawa-san.”

“What?” Bokuto says. “But it’s true!”

“What’s with the honorifics?” Iwaizumi asks, changing the conversation. The ‘super-hot’ comment can wait to be unpacked until later. “You said you’ve known each other for what, four years?”

“Akaashi gets embarrassed really easily,” Bokuto says. “Besides, we don’t _always_ call each other that—”

“ _Please_ , Bokuto-san,” Akaashi begs.

“What? What’d I say?”

“Hmm,” Oikawa says. “That’s no good. We’ll have to come up with a cute nickname, stat. Is Akaashi-chan cute enough?”

Bokuto seriously considers this. “Maybe,” he says.

“But we can do better?”

“Totally!”

Iwaizumi gives Akaashi a sympathetic pat on the back.

After a moment, Oikawa throws out “Aka-chan”, then fears for his life when Akaashi leaps up with murderous rage in their eyes. “Sorry! That one was a joke. Hm…how about Acchan?”

“That one’s good!” Bokuto exclaims.

Akaashi doesn’t do anything for a moment. Then they say, “Iwa-chan.”

Oikawa pales. “Excuse you, Akaashi-kun!”

They shrug. “All’s fair.”

“You’re mean, Akaashi-kun.”

“Holy shit,” Iwaizumi hisses under his breath, to Bokuto. “I’ve never seen anyone shake one of Oikawa’s nicknames before.”

“I’m right here!” Oikawa whines. “I’m literally right next to you, Iwa-chan!”

“Um,” says a waitress hovering by the table. “Are you guys gonna order anything?”

“Chicken fingers and fries,” Bokuto says. Oikawa and Iwaizumi high-five.

***

After the date, Akaashi is pleased to discover Bokuto has righted the massive couch in their apartment. As soon as their shoes are off, they pull their boyfriend onto it and burrow into the cushions, exhausted from a week of classes and an overly exciting date. Bokuto follows eagerly, wrapping around them like an octopus—or at least like an octopus that’s been chopped down the middle, left with four wiggly limbs that, once stuck to Akaashi, were pretty much impossible to pry off.

Not that they’re complaining.

They lie on the couch like that for a while. Their date was fun; they’re going to do it again, maybe eventually address the massive love quadrangle situation they seem to have going on. While Akaashi dozes off, Bokuto explains the details of his and Kuroo’s latest upcoming invention, which is worrisome, but not enough to convince them to move. Besides, as long as they’re tangled on the couch together, it’s not like Bokuto can _act_ on any of these plans. They decide they’re never moving again. Then they remember—

“Hey, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Our two-year anniversary is soon.”

“It is? I mean, I already knew that! I promise I didn’t forget!”

Akaashi groans, burying their face deeper in Bokuto’s shirt. “That’s not why I brought it up.”

“Oh?”

Akaashi doesn’t say anything.

“Akaashi, if you’re trying to tell me something, I have no idea what it is.” Bokuto thinks for a moment. “Unless you’re mad I ordered chicken fingers in front of Oikawa and Iwaizumi? I don’t think they minded—they still like us—”

“I’m not talking about _chicken fingers_ , Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says. “I mean, what we said before. Two years ago. About not breaking up.”

Bokuto processes this. And processes this.

“Oh!” he says at last, maneuvering Akaashi so he can look them in the eyes. “Do you think I’m going to break up with you?”

Akaashi shrugs. Bokuto laughs, his whole body shaking under Akaashi, who curls up into an even tighter ball, face burning.

“I would never break up with you,” Bokuto says. “Besides, we’re going out with Oikawa and Iwaizumi again next week! It would be rude if we stood them up.”

Akaashi groans. Okay, fine—they set themself up for that one.

***

A few blocks over, on a couch in an apartment decorated by someone with questionable taste, Oikawa and Iwaizumi are curled up on a mountain of plush toys watching _Ancient Aliens_ reruns.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says. “Tonight was fun, right?”

“It was great,” Oikawa says.

“And you meant it when you said you wanted to see them again?” he asks.

“We see them every day, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, still focused on the TV.

“You know what I mean.”

“It’s nice of you to ask,” he says, “but of course I meant it. I don’t flirt myself into situations I can’t get out of, Iwa-chan. I’m not an _amateur_.”

Iwaizumi wants to disagree reflexively, but he’s not ready to change the conversation yet. “This is new territory, though.”

“Maybe,” Oikawa says. “But I think it’s going to work.”

“Good,” Iwaizumi says. “Me too.”

“Aw, Iwa-chan, you _are_ romantic,” Oikawa says, curling his arms around his head and ruffling his hair. “You know Oikawa-san’s love deserves to be shared. It’ll be like my high school fan club all over again.”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi mumbles into Oikawa’s shoulder. “Besides, Akaashi was the one who suggested the date to me in the first place.”

“Oh?” Oikawa says. Akaashi, who had spent the entire night looking mortified? Akaashi, who was even less familiar with the concept of ‘fun’ than Iwa-chan?

Oh. Oikawa grins, slowly.

“Jesus,” Iwaizumi says. “Could you try looking less creepy when you’re happy? What are you even smiling about? Oikawa?”

Akaashi Keiji is many things—smart, good-looking, easily embarrassed. Probably even hotter in reading glasses; Oikawa casually makes plans to confirm this in the future.

They’re also a mastermind.

This is going to be fun.

**Author's Note:**

> uhh.......aka-chan means “infant”, in case that joke didn’t read
> 
>  
> 
> chair backpack


End file.
